Choice
by Behindthebook08
Summary: "He loved her, of course, but better than that, he chose her, day after day. Choice: that was the thing." – Sherman Alexie


**A/N: Just a short little fic that suddenly popped into my head tonight. It's fresh out of my brain, so if you see any mistakes, please let me know. I hope you enjoy!**

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She wasn't the easiest of women to love—and she knew that. She was high maintenance, and demanded far more than your average person was willing to give.

She demanded_ time_.

Time as a couple—long mornings spent in bed, late nights laughing over cheesy jokes on her sofa, lunch dates spent arguing over the most recent political moves, and weekends spent in the woods, the beach, or the park.

Time to herself—time to read the enormous tomes she constantly toted around in her purse, time to research and invent new charms and spells, time to experiment with a new recipe, and time to simply sit next to the lake and imagine the world around her.

Time with friends—time playing silly muggle board games and eating take out and giggling over recent gossip.

She demanded _fidelity_. From the moment he first smiled at her, she demanded complete and total fidelity. There would be no other person whom he could share that certain smile with. No other person whom his eyes sparkled at from across the room. No other image in his mind when he kissed her, no other fleeting touch during a dinner out with friends.

It could only ever be her, and that was entirely nonnegotiable.

Her friends told her that she was crazy, that no man could be expected to be entirely committed in their body and mind, that it was _normal _for a man to occasionally feel a flutter from another woman. But she could never accept that.

She demanded _trust_. Not just trust that she was faithful and honest—but trust in her opinions and decisions. Trust in her ability to choose a life worth living and trust in her promises to include him in it. Trust that she would always find room in her busy schedule for him, whoever that may be.

On top of all of this, she demanded love.

Not simple teenage infatuation, or dark twisted passion driven love, or even logical intellect based love—no, she demanded _true _love. Love that builds from a strong foundation. Love that can be trusted and relied upon.

She demanded love that would give her butterflies and curl her toes, but simultaneously fulfilled her every logical necessity. She demanded a love so deep it could easily tear out her heart, but so real that she never had to worry it would. She demanded love that was complete friendship and would last through all of life's trials—love that she could look forward to enjoying when she turned ninety and was entirely uninterested in sex. Love that could be just as fulfilled by eating soup and reading an old novel as it was from nights filled with passionate embraces and hair curling ecstasy.

She wanted something real and full and perfect.

Her friends said it was a fairy tale—but she doubted they even understood the genre. She wasn't looking for fancy dresses and extravagant balls. She wasn't looking for a prince or a hero—for smooth curls and a chiseled jaw.

She was looking for a fight at two o'clock in the morning, when a pipe bursts and the bathroom is flooded, and you're throwing towels across the room in a rage. She was looking for that moment right after, when your hair is frizzed and angry, your socks soggy, and your carpet growing mildew— that moment when you still choose to wrap your arms around that person and tell them, "I love you, darling," before you fall asleep.

She was looking for something that was often times ugly and imperfect and rough—but something which was also invincible—something which could survive too many hours at the office, and nights of boredom where she insisted on reading "one more page" for three hours. Something which could survive Voldemort, and the Ministry, and whispered rumors of insanity.

They all said she was crazy and that she had read too many muggle love stories. They said that she should settle for the boy who was sweet but couldn't quite keep up, or the boy who was smart but didn't make her laugh. She should accept what was offered and stop being so picky.

And then _he_ came along. Him, with his tattered robes and scarred face. Him, with his broken heart and broken family. Him, with the mischievous son who still cried for his mother.

Him.

He swept into her life without a moment's notice, gracing her with a kind smile and a warm hug. He made her laugh; quoting an old book that no one else had read, and asked her how she was in such a way that she _knew_ he wanted the real answer.

He asked her to join them for ice cream— choosing to let her in to their day of adventuring, choosing to allow her to make his little boy laugh in delight as she smeared peanut butter ice cream on his nose.

She had heard of a woman falling in love with a man's laugh. That the man would give a chuckle and she would swoon and suddenly every piece would click together perfectly—she would _know. _What she hadn't expected was to hear the laugh of a three year old boy and suddenly feel everything click so perfectly into place, and yet it did.

That squeal of delight accompanying the cold chill of ice cream on a toddler's nose caused her to fall in love more quickly and more powerfully than she had ever imagined. She looked over to the boy's father, and caught him staring for a moment, a surprised joy dancing in his eyes. He had felt it too.

Her friends had believed it impossible—and she knew that they still whispered. They wondered what dirty secrets she must be keeping, to have found such perfect happiness in such an imperfect situation. But in truth—there was nothing.

He gave her everything she ever demanded, and something infinitely more. Because of all the demands she made, he provided the one she hadn't ever considered.

Choice.

He gave her his time and his heart—his fidelity and his trust, and on top of all of that, he chose _her_.

Every day and every moment he made that choice to allow her into his life. To trust her with his fragile and fragmented heart, to trust her with his son and his secrets. Every day he chose her as that person, as the one person _he_ had been told he could never find—the person that was supposed to be a fairy tale.

And every day she chose him right back.

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**Thank you so much for reading, please consider shooting me a review and letting me know what you think.**

**Also, if you're interested, this is the quote which inspired this whole little thing:**

_"He loved her, of course, but better than that, he chose her, day after day. Choice: that was the thing." – Sherman Alexie_


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